 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
162
SABBATH EVE.
How calm, how still, this hallow'd eve!
Methinks the heart might cease to grieve
While gazing on that arch so blue,
With mercy mirror'd in its hue,
And think how short a time may bring
Repose from earthly suffering;
Or lend a wing to mount above
The spheres in which the planets move.
Methinks the heart might cease to grieve
While gazing on that arch so blue,
With mercy mirror'd in its hue,
And think how short a time may bring
Repose from earthly suffering;
Or lend a wing to mount above
The spheres in which the planets move.
The vesper star begins to beam,
But scarce its image strikes the stream,
For summer's faintness o'er it creeps,
And all its bolder sparkles keeps
Entangled 'mid the misty light
Which fills the azure vault of night,
While earth and sky appear imbued
With the deep soul of solitude.
But scarce its image strikes the stream,
For summer's faintness o'er it creeps,
And all its bolder sparkles keeps
Entangled 'mid the misty light
Which fills the azure vault of night,
While earth and sky appear imbued
With the deep soul of solitude.
The day hath passed in praise and prayer,
Now evening comes more still and fair;
The holy heavens are free from gloom,
The earth is green, and gay with bloom;
The blackbird's whistled note is high,
Ringing in woodland melody:
And though the cushat 'mid the grove
Be plaining, still his plaint is love.
Now evening comes more still and fair;
The holy heavens are free from gloom,
The earth is green, and gay with bloom;
The blackbird's whistled note is high,
Ringing in woodland melody:
And though the cushat 'mid the grove
Be plaining, still his plaint is love.
If we could feel as men should feel
When heaven and earth their sweets reveal,
Our selfish sorrows all would cease
On such a solemn eve of peace,
And Nature's stillnes would compose
Our souls, and dissipate our woes;
And from our spirits softly call
Pure hopes and thoughts devotional.
When heaven and earth their sweets reveal,
163
On such a solemn eve of peace,
And Nature's stillnes would compose
Our souls, and dissipate our woes;
And from our spirits softly call
Pure hopes and thoughts devotional.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |